Firefight
by Widdrim
Summary: General Windu talked a lot about dejarik-caught in the fork, under the thumb, boxed in. A lot of terms for the same situation. Pinned down in a skirmish, wounded, and separated from his men, Ponds was pretty sure this fit the bill.


Ponds leaned back against the burnt-out shell of the Seppie tank. It was still smoking from the Republic fire that had gutted it not ten minutes earlier, which in battle might as well be a lifetime.

Another firefight. Surrounded again. He fired a warning shot around the corner, just to let the clankers know he was still kicking. He glanced ruefully down at his left calf. Blood and blaster soot smeared the white armor where one of the damn things had tagged him.

Kicking might be generous.

It hurt like hell.

It looked worse.

General Windu talked a lot about dejarik. The holotable game was the closest thing to a vice the clones had ever seen the general have, and he was uncanny at it. Used the terminology in his briefings too-caught in the fork, under the thumb, boxed in. A lot of terms for the same situation. Pinned down in a skirmish, wounded, and separated from his men, Ponds was pretty sure this fit the bill.

Blaster fire pinged off the tank, and Ponds flinched. He shook his head to try and get a moment of clarity against the pain, which he used to shout orders into his comm. Keep the men moving before the clankers outflanked them and they had a real mess on their hands. Confirmation rang back, his brothers' voices strong and unflagging. Boots on the ground.

The world went a little black at the edges, and Ponds shook his head and slapped his helmet. "Keep it together, man."

But between the droids gunning for him and the threat of impending unconsciousness, his men better reach him fast or there wouldn't be enough of him to keep together.

The scream of a friendly gunship cut across the battlefield and into his thoughts. It was out of his line of sight, but it meant they had a chance of beating the droids' line back.

Static crackled in his ear, and a familiar deep voice cut through the chaos. "Commander."

Relief surged in Ponds' chest. Somewhere in the smoke and hellfire was General Windu. The coming storm, some of the shinies called him. The best of the best.

Maybe Lightning Squadron stood a shot at getting out of this one after all.

Ponds hit the talk button on his comm. "Glad you could join us, sir."

"It seems like you've handled the majority of it. Meet us at the drop site."

Ponds leaned around the side of the tank. Blaster fire ricocheted off metal and sprayed sparks against his visor, forcing him back behind cover before he could spy the gunship or his general. Fool Jedi would probably jump from the ship without letting it land, so there was no telling where he was. It would be easy enough to spot that purple lightsaber though, flashing wherever the fighting was the worst. The general had never turned up his nose at a fight.

Ponds glanced again and got another warning shot way too close to his head. He winced and sucked a couple of pained breaths through his teeth. "No can do, general. Droids got me pinned down."

A beat of silence over the comms.

"I'm coming."

The gunship's scream drew closer, and Ponds ducked as it whizzed low overhead. It kicked up enough wind and dirt to obscure everything for a second. Then General Windu hit the ground in a crouch, and Ponds leaped nearly out of his armor. It didn't matter how many times he saw the Jedi do it-nobody had any business flinging themselves out of a ship going that fast. Or all, if he was honest.

The general deflected a few blaster bolts, rewarded with the telltale ping of contact and battle bots' cries. Then he crouched behind cover beside Ponds. As usual, the general's brow was creased. His frown deepened when he saw the hole in Ponds' leg and the slope of the commander's shoulders.

"Just a scratch, sir." With the shudder in Ponds' voice, it wouldn't have convinced a drunk shiny, and the general raised an eyebrow.

The general didn't ask if he could walk. They both knew if Ponds could, he wouldn't be stuck behind a gutted enemy tank. He was no Jedi, but he was Commander for a reason.

Another hail of blaster fire. Ponds flinched, and the sudden movement made his head spin. "Damn clankers."

The general got a distant look like he'd gone halfway across the galaxy. It was a look he got right before something kriffing insane happened-a Vulture droid falling out of the sky or a Seppie tank fractured and popped like a ration can. He'd shattered a wall of duraglass six inches thick once and brought a dozen brothers through unscratched.

Miracles.

Behind the tank, the clank of droids sounded closer, or maybe he was nearer to passing out than he thought. They were so loud. Could the general not hear the thunder? Ponds never thought he'd be the hysterical type when death came, but it was getting hard to breath with the heavy smoke, and his shallow gasping wasn't helping him stay calm. "Sir… sir, I think those clankers are getting closer."

The general blinked, back from whatever far-flung Force… thing that had drawn him away. Then he ignited his lightsaber. The hum and light of it made Ponds wince. With a flick of the Jedi's wrist, the weapon went spinning end over end out of sight.

Ponds held his blaster a little tighter until dismayed, mechanical cries rang out. The lightsaber snapped back to the Jedi's hand like it had never left. Then the general turned it off and hung it from his belt before offering Ponds a hand. "We need to move, Commander."

"You should leave me, sir. I'll just slow you down." Ponds took the offered hand anyway. Windu helped him to his feet, but Ponds' leg buckled under him. The general caught him, and the world swam across Ponds' vision. Damn it. Mace might be a kriffing storm, but Ponds was very much human. A human with a shot in his leg the size of a gunship exhaust port, and it hurt.

The solidity of the general's unarmored shoulders under his arm was an odd comfort in the hot, smoking battlefield, but a comfort regardless.

Ponds took one step and stumbled, so the Jedi crouched and draped the commander across his shoulders. It hurt like a son of a veermok and his head swam, but Ponds gritted his teeth.

"Hold on."

That was never a good sign. Ponds tried to raise his head. "Hold onto wha—"

Then Mace threw out a hand, and the burnt-out tank shuddered and moved. It screamed across the ground, bulldozing the remaining droids in a storm of sparks and parts. A whole squad of droids reduced to so much scrap.

Ponds wasn't sure if he was delirious or not, but the Jedi leaped, impossibly far.

Then the clone was being eased to the ground, his brothers shouting around him, blaster fire somewhere in the distance. Someone was cutting the ruined armor off his leg, peeling off his sweaty helmet.

His vision was tunneling. Dark shrinking his vision to a pinprick of light.

Was he dead? No. No, he couldn't be dead. A strong hand held his, tethering him to the living.

"Looks..." He winced. "Owe you one, General."

And Ponds slipped from consciousness into the quiet dark.


End file.
